back into your system
by TheWingsOfButterflies
Summary: There's a restlessness in his bones, and a broken city is calling to him. Maybe he can fix it, fix him, even if he can't fix himself. -Sam/Tron-
1. Chapter 1

_back into your system_

**note1:** Because I like TRON:Legacy far too much and Sam is just so pretty. (So this is post-Legacy, in case I wasn't clear enough.)  
**note2:**Be warned peeps, this is definitely SLASH. Yes. Because I'm a whore.

**summary:** There's a restlessness in his bones, and a broken city is calling to him. Maybe he can fix it, fix _him_, even if he can't fix himself. -Sam/Tron-

* * *

Alan was talking again. Sam knew he should pay attention (really, he did), but it was just so _boring_. All the board ever did was talk about stocks, shares, upgrades and profit. Sure, that was important and all, but it wasn't _him_. Sam was all fast cars, retro games, alcohol and everything good little boys weren't supposed to do. (Alan was nice. He said Sam was just an adrenalin junkie. Quorra was not. She said he had a death wish. He wasn't quite sure who was right yet.)

"...m... Sam... SAM!"

He jumped, musings interrupted by Dillinger Jr., who looks rather put out. Must have been something relatively important then. Damn.

"Hmm?" he replies, trying (and failing. Horribly.) to look as if he had a clue of what was being discussed.

"What did you think of my upgrade patch? You did look it over, right?" They both know he hasn't, not really, and Sam hates the smug grin that sneaks across his face.

"No, haven't quite gotten to it yet. Been busy, you know." He's bullshitting again. There hasn't been much to do at home except teach Quorra about the real world and answer her endless questions. (Sometimes he wonders where she even gets them. He doesn't even _remember_telling her about sporks, and has no idea who the hell invented the damn things.)

Alan sighs and Sam internally winces. (God knows he's put that man through enough.) He shakes his head, shoving back his chair and stands.

"Okay then. How about we just call it a day everybody. I'm beat, and I'm sure everyone else is to." He turns to Sam, looking far older than he should. "Sam, why don't you take a break this week. I know you've been busy (**lies**, and Sam loves him for them) and I think a week of downtime would do you some good."

He's basically banning him from all company business for a week, but Sam really can't bring himself to care as much as he knows he should.

* * *

**note3:** This is pure self indulgence here people, so blah.  
**note4:** So I'm tweaking things a bit because I can. So Sam is 25ish, and if you see anything else that's slightly AU, deal.


	2. Chapter 2

_back into your system_

**note1:** Late nights are so productive. It's crazy.  
**note2:**Just learned that Daft Punk did the entire TRON:Legacy soundtrack, as well as played the MP3s in the End of the Line club. Legit.

He's flying down the interstate, wind tugging at his jacket, a smile on his face. He's going faster and faster, rocketing between cars (probably breaking quite a few laws) on the old Ducati. Tail lights blend into glowing ribbons, and he's on the Grid again.

He swerves this way and that, avoiding imaginary Black Guards, laughter bubbling up in his throat. He loves this, the rush. His bike can't even compare to the unadulterated speed of a lightcycle, but he doesn't care. All he needs is this feeling of flying into the night, and he is satisfied, temporarily. (He absently wonders what it would be like to ride a lightcycle again, to go back to the Grid.)

The city is a blur of concrete, steel, lights and dreams, but he barely sees it. Instead he sees the neon glow of circuits and feels the pulse of an electric city. He wishes he would have had more time to explore his father's creation. There was too much fighting, too much running, too _much_.

He almost passes by the Dumont crates where he, Quorra and Marvin live. Tires squeal and he tips dangerously low, and he grins. He knows he's going to get an earful from Quorra about responsibility when he walks in the door, but he can't really seem to care. ENCOM makes him restless, and he's never been good with staying still.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, a dangerous idea is blossoming, and we all know how well Sam handles danger.)

**note3:** Punching In a Dream - The Naked and Famous is on replay. Expect much of it.


	3. Chapter 3

_back into your system_

**note1:**I'm on a roll, bitches. Write the story nobody reads! Write it!

Quorra's waiting for him when he walks in the door. She's curled up on the couch with a bottle of tea in one hand and Jules Verne in the other, and he can't help but think she's the least threatening thing he's dealt with all day. (The board is like a group of sharks, circling and circling, waiting for him to screw up so they can rip him to pieces.) He shoots her a grin, but when he's met with a blank look he sighs and grabs a beer from the fridge.

"Sam."

"Quorra."

She continues to stare him down as he flops onto the couch, and he takes a deep breath to prepare himself from the tirade that is no doubt about to come.

"Alan called."

"Oh really? How is he?"

She shakes her head and sighs, exasperation written clearly across her face.

"Sam... He's worried about you, okay? We all are. You seem so, gone. I'd say you were glitching, but that doesn't happen here. Is everything alright?"

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He hates that he makes them worry, but he can't help it. It's how he's always been, bouncing from place to place, always on the go. Working at ENCOM seems so dull. He feels stagnant, like he needs some drastic change to set things in motion again. He wishes he was more like his dad, but he's not, and everybody else seems to just be figuring that out.

"I'm fine Q. Really! I just need... something."

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. He would be to, honestly. Something? Really?

"Any idea what this 'something' is, hmm?"

"Not yet, but you'll be the first to know when I figure it out."

He gives her a cheesy grin, and she can't help but laugh. (Her eyes sparkle, and sometimes he wonders if he was supposed to fall in love with her. But he didn't, and he never really will, but that's okay. She deserves someone better than him.)

(The idea continues to grow, and Sam can't help but pull out his dad's notes on the Grid. He studies them long into the night, and by dawn, he has the faint outlines of a plan.)

**note2:** Herp deh derp. Me gusta Sam.


	4. Chapter 4

_back into your system_

**note1: **This is basically all Blackmill, The Glitch Mob, and Daft Punk. Techno on, bro.

Sam slowly pulls up in front of the old arcade and _stares_. This place, it reminds him so much of his father it physically hurts. It's where he found him then lost him again. And it's where he found The Grid. (The Grid, The Grid, The Grid. Everything revolves around that damnably beautiful city full of programs and light.)

He unlocks the front door, caressing the worn handles. He flips a switch and the beeping of games and Journey fills the air. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. He can do this. The memory card around his neck feels like an anchor, but he steps forward anyway. Left foot, right foot, a steady pace until he reaches the game that haunts his dreams. He slides the machine aside, mini lightcycles swerving left and right on the screen. Opening the hidden door he stops. Closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

He can hear the hum of the computers, old and new (he brought newer machines in the first week he got back, just in case. Set up his cell to connect with the I/O towers. Waited for a text that he knew would never come.) This room was a beginning and an ending for so many. It holds the weight of so many memories, and Sam doesn't know if he can do this anymore.

He shakes his head and laughs. He's Sam Flynn. He's jumped of the ENCOM tower for fucks sakes, he can do this. He squares his shoulders, takes one more deep breath and walks into the room.

(It's the beginning of _something_. He doesn't know what just quite yet, but he knows it's something big. Something that will change the game.)

**note2:** if anybody out there likes this, find shirozora's page and read her fics. They are the best, without a doubt. (She has even more on Archive Of Our Own. So go and read and be happy.)


	5. Chapter 5

_back into your system_

**note1:** Jack White - Love is Blindness (the cover from the Great Gatsby trailer. oh yeah.)  
**note2:**I correspond with Cameron McKell. She's lovely, and indulges in TRON related discussions. Cheers!

* * *

When Quorra shows up hours later, he's still hunched over the screen, fingers flying across the keyboard. Sam doesn't even hear her come in, he's too deep within the code that is the Grid's lifeblood. Flynn's papers (she'll never be able to think of him as Kevin, just Flynn) are pinned up on a board, notes and random code sequences scribbled haphazardly across yellowing notebook paper in blue pen. Sam glances at them occasionally, before diving back into the scrolling lines that make up what used to be her home.

(It's not anymore though. The User world is her home now. There is so much here. So much light, so much life, so much wonder. It's so different than the perpetual digital twilight of the Grid, with its neon glow and dark reflections.

In the Grid everything, everyone, had a purpose, a directive. She had always felt so lost, never knowing what she was supposed to _do_. She would wander the streets and watch everyone hurry by, with places to be and people to see. She could stand in the middle of a crowd and feel completely and utterly alone. Green lights, blue lights, yellow lights, programs with a purpose. Her white lit circuitry gave her away as different, and people shunned her for it.

But here, here she didn't feel so lost. Here, _nobody_ had a directive. They did what they wished, when the wished, because they wished. They were so _**free**_, and she _loved_ it. She loved all of it. The sunsets, which made the world look like it was on fire. The rain, which fell as it pleased, unlike the purging rain on the Grid. The chocolate, the tea, the paper books, the steady thrum of _lif_e. The User world felt so alive, she could almost hear the city breathe.

She didn't think she would ever return the Grid. There was nothing there for her there, not anymore.)

She approaches him slowly, cautiously, like one would a wild animal. She's never seen Sam in such a fervor before, pounding keys at an alarming rate. She calls his name, softly at first, then louder and louder as he continues to be unresponsive. She has to shout before he turns to her, a dazed look on his face, as if just woken up from a dream. He blinks a few times before giving her a sheepish smile.

"Hey Q. You been here long?"

She sighs and shakes her head. These Flynns. They get so into something that they forget the rest of the world and almost nothing can bring them back until they've finished what they set out to do. It worries her, how like his father Sam is in his blind dedication. But where Flynn was calm and reserved, Sam is hot-headed and reckless. Someday he's going to get himself into trouble, and Quorra is terrified she'll lose him to. (Like she lost Flynn, and Radia, and Anon.) She's lost too many already, and she'll do anything to keep from losing Sam.

"Wanna grab some coffee? I think a break would do me some good. Everything's starting to blur together now," he chuckles, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

She gives herself a mental shake and gives him a quick smile. (She _loves _coffee. One of the greatest things she's discovered in the User world so far.)

"Sure."

(She ignores the feeling in her gut that's screaming this will be the last time they go out to get coffee at her favorite little cafe downtown in a long time. Something's coming, even if they have no clue to what it is. Something big. Something that will change _everything._)

* * *

**note3:** Inspiration! It struck! But seriously, I need to get to the Grid. And Tron. I miss Tron.


	6. Chapter 6

back into your system

**note1:** oh god i'm terrible and haven't written in a month! fuck me.

* * *

Only a day has passed since he went and got coffee with Quorra, but it seems like he's spent months working on The Grid's programming. He's memorized all the sequences and shortcuts, the maps and pass codes. Sam knows The Grid's programming like the back of his hand, and he's ready to test his knowledge.

(He sees coding in his dreams, races on lightcycles and flies across the endless sea. Neon glows and distorted reflections on black buildings that tower into the twilight sky are all he sees whenever he closes his eyes. It's gone from a passing fancy to an obsession, but Sam doesn't really care, not anymore.)

He glances at the blinking monitor, the digitizer sitting in the corner, and the cellphone in his hand. He spins his chair childishly, faster and faster, until the room is a blur. He really hopes Quorra hurries.

…..

She bursts in the door ten minutes later, hair windswept and completely out of breath. (He's rather impressed. It usually takes him at _least_ twenty minutes to get here, and we all know how Sam drives.) Glancing around wildly, her gaze soon falls upon his still spinning form and she lets out a strangled noise, half gasp, half sigh. There's fear in her eyes, something he hasn't seen in them for quite a while, and he feels guilty for putting it there. Taking a deep breath of his own, Sam slams his feet down and stops his revolutions, preparing himself for A Talk. (He hates Talks, he really does. He gets them from Quorra now, and sometimes Alan, and a long, long time ago from his dad.)

He gives her a winning grin and opens his mouth to speak, but before he can utter a word Quorra's already talking a mile a minute, panic clearly evident in her voice.

"Sam. _**Sam**_! What are you thinking Sam?! You can't just send me that! You _can't_! And what are you _thinking_? _**Are**_ you thinking?! You can't be. You can't leave. What will I do if you leave? I just mphf..."

Sam's hand over her mouth cuts off the verbal assault, but her eyes still flash at him with a blue fire, and he barely holds back a flinch. He knew it would be bad, but not this bad.

"Quorra. I'm fine, everything _is_ fine, everything will _be_ fine."

She gives him a vicious glare and he smirks in return. (_There's_ his Quorra. He didn't know, doesn't know, how to handle panicked Quorra., but he knows angry Quorra far too well.)

"I'm going in," he tells her, a dazzling grin spreading across his face, "I figured out the digitizer and I fixed some of the code and I can go! I can go back!"

…..

There's determination in his voice and joy in his eyes and Quorra can feel her heart stop beating. She can't stop him. She knows this. But that doesn't stop her from grabbing onto Sam and pulling him into a suffocating hug. It's like she's trying to memorize him, absorb his essence into her soul, just in case this is the last time she'll ever see him again.

She knew he was restless, hell, they all knew he was restless, but she never thought it would come to this. Never thought that he'd go running off to the last place she ever wanted to be. She _loves_ him, she does, but she won't go back there. Not ever. Not even for him.

She pulls away and sighs, a sad smile slipping onto her face.

"What do you need me to do?"she asks quietly, sorrow whispering through her voice.

His answering grin is brighter than a thousand suns, and it's so painful that she has to look away, lest she be blinded by its radiance.

* * *

**note2:** oh god i'm rusty and i'm sorry and i hate school and aaargh. no me gusta.


	7. Chapter 7

_back into your system_

**note1: **hrm no me gusta escribir

* * *

De-resolution feels a lot like being torn apart at the seams, Sam thinks. You're yourself one moment, and the next you are millions of particles streaming through nothing and everything all at the same time. It's quite possibly the strangest thing he's ever felt, and Sam isn't quite sure if he loves or hates the sensation. The only thing he knows for sure is that he feels infinite.

But the after the de-resolution comes the resolution, and Sam _knows_ he hates that feeling. It's like being part of something greater and then slammed back into a mortal shell of flesh and bone (or data and pixels, depending on which way you're going) and told 'sorry, ride's over, wait until next time'. It kinda sucks. It kinda sucks a lot. He feels boxed in. Like he did at CalTech, and later at ENCOM. Boxed in is _not_ Sam Flynn. Sam Flynn is fast cars, pretty people and lots and lots of alcohol. (He's still a kid at heart, stuck in his own kind of Neverland.)

He only has seconds to dwell on this claustrophobia and Not Sam-ness before The Fall.

And oh, what a fall it is. It's like jumping off the ENCOM tower again, except there's no parachute to slow him down and no pavement rushing up to meet him. There is no time or distance to measure things by during The Fall, because The Fall is infinite and all consuming. The Fall is everything. (And he _knows_ he likes the fall, because it is dangerous and thrills him to the bone.)

Just as the adrenaline kicks in Sam blinks, and suddenly he's lying on a dark polished floor and everything _aches_. Being torn apart, smashed together and falling faster than the speed of light isn't anything to be taken lightly, Sam supposes. He's too sore to do anything but stare at the muted glow that seems to emanate from the ceiling, a soft white he's come to associate with friendly programming, programming that is home. (Red is for Guards, orange is for Clu, blue was Tron, and white is me and you, he singsongs in his head, once again a child listening to Dad's stories about a world full of wonders.)

He takes a deep breath and feels the electricity crackle through his lungs, tickling and burning his throat in a delicious way. There's a constant hum in his ears and he can smell ozone in the air. Sam presses his palms against the cool floor and can _feel_ the pulse of the data that makes up The Grid, makes up the ground he's lying on and the air he breathes.

Sam closes his eyes and grins.

It feels good to be home.

* * *

**note2:** more techno, because its Tron and that is the physical manifestation of techno.


End file.
